


just another day (that i will never forget)

by blifuys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Anniversary, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29084277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: “Brother,” Flayn says, “what day is it today?”“Today?” Seteth tips his head to the side in confusion, then replies with the obvious. “It’s the fifth of the Harpstring Moon.”
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20
Collections: Courage My Love: A Setleth Zine





	just another day (that i will never forget)

**Author's Note:**

> written for [Courage, My Love](https://twitter.com/setlethzine)! being a part of this project was so fun!
> 
> the pairing is m!byleth/seteth.

Since the end of the war two years ago, Garreg Mach remains quiet—a sleepy monastery resting at the top of a mountain touching the blue, blue skies. What was once full of life has come to a standstill, and every passing moment melds into each other.

There is no beginning or end to Seteth’s days, his schedule made hazier by the obvious lack of students roaming about the monastery. The territories of Fódlan have busied themselves with restoration projects, so it is only natural that children—commoner and noble alike—stay in their hometowns, assisting their parents however they can.

He understands this very well, yet Seteth looks for chatter in every corner of the monastery, the ghosts of stories long past lingering in the monastery’s listening walls.

Seteth would never admit this out loud, but he finds himself running out of things to do too quickly these days. When the room falls dark after hours of staring at the same string of words, he pinches the wick of the candle sitting tall on his desk, allowing magic to crackle between his fingertips until the room fills with warm light.

Today, on Flayn’s orders, he sits in the dining hall. The savoury scent of Daphnel stew fills his nostrils as he stares into his daughter’s stern gaze, her perfect, small face curled into pure annoyance. She has yet to say a word, which is strange. She’s never had any difficulty chiding him for plenty of things before.

“Flayn,” Seteth greets.

“Brother,” Flayn replies.

She glares, expectant gaze trained on Seteth like she’s waiting for him to say something specific. Nothing comes to mind about what he could have done to upset her, however. He’s already stopped his—and he quotes— _unnecessary_ interrogations on the people who choose to interact with his daughter, much to her delight.

“...You seem to have something in mind.” Seteth finally breaks the silence after watching Flayn pout for a few minutes. She’s barely touched her own bowl of stew, which has likely cooled down by now. “Is something the matter?”

“Brother,” Flayn says, “what day is it today?”

“Today?” Seteth tips his head to the side in confusion, then replies with the obvious. “It’s the fifth of the Harpstring Moon.”

Instead of settling his daughter, like he expected, Flayn only seems to get _angrier_ , her face beginning to go red as she puffs out her cheeks in anger. It amuses him, really, how much Flayn resembles her mother when she gets angry. He recalls the way her mother used to do the same—furrowed brow and all.

“Yes, I _know_ it’s the fifth, brother,” Flayn says, with such a bite in her words that Seteth wonders—what has annoyed her so much? “But you seem to not know _exactly_ what day it is.”

“What is it then?” Seteth says, puzzled. “If you have something to say to me, speak your mind freely.”

“It’s your wedding anniversary, is it not?”

“My anniversary? No? My anniversary is on the fifth of the—… Harpstring—"

Seteth’s heart stops and plummets to the bottom of his stomach, dragging shock through his whole body as he realises he has royally fucked up.

☾

“So, what are you planning to do now, brother?” Flayn asks as Seteth paces back and forth along the corridor outside the dining hall. She watches him think, her arms crossed over her chest as she taps her finger on her forearm.

He finds himself listless—his thoughts jumbled up to the point where he can’t even _begin_ to organise them. How could he forget something so important? What had occupied so much of his time that his beloved had been pushed to the back of his mind?

Perhaps, if he departed from the monastery right now, he might make it to the far north—where Faerghus’ export of silver would provide him a choice of fine jewellery as an anniversary gift. Or perhaps, he could fly to the south—where the lush greenery of Leicester could provide him with the finest teas, flavourful on the tongue—

Yet, neither of those choices seem adequate. In the years they have been married, Byleth has never once shown interest in such luxuries. Gold and livestock were the most common gifts to the church—more specifically, to the hero of Fodlan. However, these gifts have never seen the church’s coffers. Instead, they were always redistributed—handed out to the poor farmers whose lands were razed from war, and villages that needed the money to rebuild.

“If it helps,” Flayn begins, as if she could hear Seteth’s thoughts, “I think Byleth would be happy to have something simple.”

“Simple?”

“Yes! I think that love is best encapsulated in the memories you have with each other.” Flayn’s lips spread into a beautiful smile. “Maybe something memorable? A token of a special moment?”

“Something memorable, you say...” Seteth pauses as something begins to form in his head, like a sprout emerging from soil. “I might have an idea.”

☾

Seteth recalls the day very well.

He remembered the way Byleth looked entering the cathedral—bathed in cream white silk and golden embellishments, ready to take his place next to Seteth. Sunlight ricocheted off the jewels embedded in Byleth’s cape, decorating the walls of the usually bleak hall with rainbows.

He stared at the wreath of flowers in Byleth’s hands, instead of his face. His body felt uncomfortable, only weighed further down by the heavy embellishments in his own wedding garb—and that only added on to his anxieties that prevented him from making eye contact with Byleth. 

Instead, he allowed himself to inspect the beautiful bundle of flowers from afar, if only to calm himself by letting his mind run over something other than fear and tension.

 _Heartfelt emotion._ Byleth walking in time to the choir’s melody as Seteth eyed the milky pink hydrangeas in his hands.

 _A return to happiness._ Flayn standing where Seteth should have been, having been asked to officiate the wedding for them. She was full of smiles, and Seteth thought he saw an emotional shine in her eyes. It seemed that the wedding party had decorated her beautiful hair with lilies of the valley, the small blooms like stars in her luscious seafoam locks.

 _Happy years._ He thought of the gift of tulips he had received from one of the neighbouring rulers, once an impressionable young student under his care. Though the monarchs were too busy rebuilding, he kept in mind to send them formal letters of gratitude once the festivities ended.

 _I love you._ Byleth stopping by Seteth’s side at the altar, the scent of white roses as refreshing as the seaside breeze blowing through his hair. They were so close. His hands felt clammy, and he wondered if the crowd could tell he was nervous.

“Welcome friends, family, and loved ones,” Flayn said, splitting open the tome in her hands as she inspected the contents of the yellowed pages. “We have gathered today to witness the marriage of Byleth and Seteth, as they unite their hearts in matrimony.”

That was not the first time he’d exchanged vows before the Goddess herself. He had first done so years ago in a dilapidated cathedral somewhere in the old capital of Enbarr—its location long lost to time and the humans’ hunger for progress. Yet, he had never wed in front of a crowd _this_ big before, and Seteth felt like there were eyes on him from every corner of the room—at the mercy of his guests’ collective scrutiny.

He had not registered Flayn’s words. He watched her lips move and shape around what he assumed to be the Goddess’s writings, but nothing clicked in his head. Instead, he listened to the pounding and rush of blood in his ears. Seteth’s gut squeezed and clenched in anxiety, calling his attention to the pounding drum of his heart like he was about to go to war.

The room felt small— _tight_ ; he felt like he was slowly being squeezed free of air—

“Are you alright?” Byleth mumbled, his voice low to keep from speaking over Flayn.

And for the first time since Byleth entered the cathedral, Seteth looked at him—and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. Byleth was— _is_ —gorgeous. On that fateful day, he was glowing in the sunlight, gentle pastel-green locks framing his face like a halo. He looked like an angel, and Seteth a mere mortal by comparison.

In all the years Seteth has known him, he’s come to learn that Byleth is not one to show his emotions. His face is permanently still, a mercenary whose blood runs colder than the north winds of Fhirdiad. But in that moment, the hand that slid into Seteth’s was warm—a calming presence washing peace over Seteth like the seaside tides rolling along the shore.

“Yes,” Seteth replied, emphasising his wellbeing with a squeeze of Byleth’s hand. “I am, my love. I am just nervous.”

“So am I.” The ends of Byleth’s lips quirked up gently in such a Byleth-esque smile, eyes softened as if relieved to hear Seteth’s anxiety. “I am not used to this much attention and grandeur.”

“You?” Seteth bit back an amused chuckle. “I’d think that you of all people would be used to being front-and-center already.”

“Perhaps you do not know me as well as you hoped.”

“Perhaps I simply have a lot to learn.”

Byleth did not reply, but his smile grew stronger—the ends of his lips curling up a little more, and he turned his attention back towards Flayn, who smiled at them knowingly. It made Seteth’s heart squeeze and flop in his chest; anxiety finally replaced by a warm, fleeting euphoria as he promised himself to the man who captured his heart.

☾

No matter how hard Seteth searched, it was impossible to find what he had sought to search for. He had gravely underestimated how in-demand his choice of gift would be. When he reached the marketplace that afternoon, the florist had sold all their stock, and Seteth had just caught them packing up their stall, ready to leave for the foot of the mountain.

Not a single flower sat in the monastery, save for the dandelions blooming skyward from the lack of maintenance on some of the grassy lawns sprinkled around the compound. By the time he finally gave in to the obvious fact that he had failed in his quest to search for a bouquet, his quarters had already fallen dark.

He leans into the stone balcony just outside their window, allowing the cool late-spring air to caress him. The moon glows at the top of the world, surrounded by the twinkling stars that dot across the sky. It’s beautiful, but Seteth cannot bring himself to focus on the sight. Instead, all he can think of is—

“Seteth?”

Oh, _joy_.

“Dearest,” Seteth says, turning his head to the side to catch Byleth at the balcony door. “I didn’t expect you to be back so early.”

“Early? The sun has set long ago. I usually return to our quarters around this time,” Byleth says as he begins to pull off articles of clothing to hang up on the clothing rack hidden out of sight, preparing to retire for the day. “In fact, I’d say that _you’re_ pretty early.”

“A-ah.” Seteth’s heart sinks. Had he really buried himself in work, so much that Byleth—his own _husband_ —had yet to see him as often as he should? “I suppose I was just tired.”

“I see,” Byleth hums. “Well, I will not complain. I am happy to see you.”

And just as quickly as Byleth had appeared, Seteth feels a weight against his side; pressed up and comfortable against his husband. 

Unlike plenty of other couples that Seteth has met in his life(—granted, there weren’t that many in the first place—)his marriage has never had a need for words. Often, the two of them linger in comfortable silence, and Seteth couldn’t ask for anything better, but—

This time, the bubble of guilt does not allow him to stay quiet. It swells in his chest with anxiety, and his throat clenches around a mysterious weight—as if his fear had manifested inside of him with Byleth’s arrival.

Better to be upfront than to keep his wrongdoing hanging.

“… Dearest,” Seteth begins, “I have to apologise to you.”

“What for?” Byleth asks, and those soulful eyes turn to face Seteth.

“Our anniversary,” Seteth explains, “I forgot about our special day. I should have been more diligent, but—”

“Oh? That was today?” Byleth cuts in, expression so indifferent in contrast to Seteth’s guilt-ridden heart. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I completely forgot about it too.”

And something pauses inside of Seteth, as if the overwhelming swirl of emotion inside of him freezes in mid-air. In its place, something lighter bubbles in his chest, and before he realises, he’s laughing—a merry sound mixing into the sound of the crickets singing, and the gentle winds of the night.

“Was it something I said?” Byleth asks.

“N-no,” Seteth shakes his head as he dies down into a chuckle, “I was just thinking of us.”

“Oh, a good memory?” Byleth’s hand slides into Seteth’s, a move that’s been done so many times that it’s pure instinct by now. “I’m glad you’re not mad about me forgetting.”

“Any memory with you is a good memory, my love.” Seteth squeezes his hand. “I could never be angry with you.”

But Byleth does not smile. Instead, he looks up to the sky—dotted diamonds reflecting in his irises. Up close, he looks gorgeous, and Seteth can’t bring himself to look away.

“… Do you think this might last forever, Seteth?” Byleth asks. “At some point, we’ll both cease to exist.”

Of course, hard questions are no stranger to Byleth. Seteth bears witness to his husband’s journey of self-discovery, and questions like these are often directed towards him, whether he likes it or not.

(He likes it very much.)

“My love,” Seteth says as he turns towards Byleth, and he reaches out for his other hand. “The Nabateans spoke of our origins in the stars. You and I are made of stardust.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means...” Seteth slides a warm thumb over Byleth’s knuckles, tracing over them one by one. “...that no matter where we go, we will always find each other in the sky.”

And that coaxes the most beautiful smile Seteth has ever seen; Byleth’s cheeks are tinged pink, his eyes curving into half-moons in happiness. He doesn’t say anything, but instead, Byleth pushes forward to tuck his head under Seteth’s chin, arms looping around his husband’s torso in a sweet embrace.

Seteth promises to himself to spend more time with his beloved—more nights under the stars like this, for as long as they’re allowed to.

“Happy anniversary, Seteth,” Byleth whispers, and Seteth’s heart blooms like the big, round moon in the night sky.

“Happy anniversary to you too, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> [you can find me here!](https://twitter.com/blifuys)


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